


tethered to the damned

by London_The_Loser



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Character Study, Child Abuse, Clay | Dream Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Denial of Feelings, Gaslighting, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, LMAO, Manipulation, Non-Linear Narrative, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sad Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Sad Ending, Self-Hatred, but like past hurt/comfort, gaslighting children lol, he gets no comfort in the future, he's just so fucked up, its both, lets go, no that child is not tommyinnit, okay guys, theres no indication of positivity but its vaguely open ended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:36:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29917710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/London_The_Loser/pseuds/London_The_Loser
Summary: [if he's remembered as a tyrant, at least he won't be forgotten.]ori made up a traumatic past for dream and then applied it to him in a character study.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 104





	tethered to the damned

**Author's Note:**

> lol over-poetic angst is what i do best. it's midnight and i spent like 30 minutes on this, hope you guys like it fasdjkhgla

"i think," he whispered quietly into a room of strangers, "that i'm always going to be the one who has to grow up." 

whatever response he was given went unregistered, and the mask that perched doubtlessly over his face shrouding his hooded eyelids and sunken cheeks. 

"i think," he starts again, into a room of people who never mourned the loss of someone they held dear. a room of people who never grieved his humanity that slipped away. 

"i think i used to be someone." 

////////////

"the strong, they have to protect the weak, dreamy."

the 7 year old sat pensively in-between shoots of tall grass, eyes shining as he stared up at his mentor. "how do you know if you're the strong one or the weak one?" dream asked curiously.

"well, i've already decided for you."

dream didn't know if he wanted to control anybody else. 

"but what if the weak want... free... freedom? what if they aren't happy?"

when dream meets the older man's eyes, he sees nothing but stony resolve.

"freedom is neglect. if the weak find themselves sad within their little bubble of safety, it does nothing but prove why _you're_ more fit to protect them."

it was quiet for one more suffocating moment, even under a sky of blue and creamy clouds. 

"you will never be free. not from me, dream. these tethers, they mean more than your _cravings_ ever will. i keep you safe, and your chains get heavier. the strong protect the weak, and until you know the burden of protecting others, you will always prioritize ignorant longing over preservation of life. 

////////////

"i did everything, i did all of this for _you!!_ " 

"you're not our fucking _savior,_ dream! you don't get to make decisions for people who can damn well protect themselves!"

_can_ _you_ _?_ dream wondered as he watched his friends (his _brothers_ ) walk away. _can you protect yourself?_

when the world falls apart, dream wonders whether satisfaction or disgust will take rest in his stomach first. 

////////////

a boy, maybe 10 or 11, sits pensively between shoots of tall-grass. 

a flat stone rests innocently between his short legs, a dagger clutched between white-knuckled fingers. 

a boy sits between shoots of tall-grass, and carves an irrelevant name into one of countless flat stones.

a boy sits between shoots of tall-grass and above freshly misplaced dirt, above a freshly decaying corpse. 

nobody would remember such an irrelevant name, or stumble upon _this_ _one,_ of many flat stones in the world. 

_shackles,_ dream thought pleasantly, _will always drag me back to you._

////////////

the world falls apart, and dream wonders if he was ever protecting them at all. 

_freedom is neglect,_ yes, of course. 

they could be free to talk, trade, argue, befriend, love, marry, sell, build, gather, spar. 

they could be free to live. 

but dream was strength, dream was apathy and protection and strategy. dream was there when his world stitched itself together. 

dream was there when his world ripped itself apart. 

dream would not be an irrelevant name carved into one of countless stones, would not rot in the ground as others wandered untethered and unchained. he was _strong,_ proved himself stronger than them every time he ripped apart their pointless attempts at government or cleaned up every war that was waged in fits of emotional negligence. 

if he's remembered as a tyrant, at least he won't be forgotten. 

////////////

"what's your favorite color?" the boy with the headband asks him one day. 

"that's a weird question." dream responds. 

"how is it weird?!"

"they're colors, why would you have a favorite?"

"because some colors make you happier!"

huh. weird. 

dream thinks of shoots of tall-grass. 

"green, i think. green is a nice color."

headband kid smiles at him, like the given information would be useful. like he was interested in what color's make dream happy. 

////////////

"you're a monster, dream."

_maybe. but my favorite color is green._

////////////

some days, dream wonders what makes him so different. 

they called tommy a kid, said you shouldn't hurt kids. 

tommy is like dream, chains and tethers are painful. hurtful. terrifying. 

but dream became stronger under the weight, and tommy crumpled. 

when wilbur came, and dream was 14 and finally growing into the _favorites_ that sapnap and george untangled from his damaged mind, he did not cower. he didn't submit or consider death. _cravings,_ wants, meant nothing to someone who knew the burden of protecting. 

dream was a kid, and it meant nothing. 

////////////

"what about pets? do you like animals?"

the trio of young teens were sat around a crackling fire, the wonder of a new world dimming as night fell around them. 

"...my mentor said i'm incapable of sustaining care for pets. my mind is too busy for them."

the others had learned a lot about his mentor, as their friendship grew into a mutual kind of trust. 

they did not like his mentor, even though the older man was long dead. 

"fuck your mentor, you care about plenty of shit. and your mind is great, when you set it on something you're passionate about. come on, there's gotta be some kind of animal you like? a dog?"

"or a cat." george added, with his funny accent that dream still marveled at occasionally. 

"he told me my love was too unstable for a pet." 

" _fuck_ him, do you like horses?"

////////////

he almost expects them to remember, remember nights of spilling insecurities and doubts that they instantly shot down. 

maybe they do remember. 

maybe they've finally concluded that his insecurities rang with an air of truth. 

maybe they missed the devotion and pride that clouded his eyes every time his gaze turned to spirit, the first pet he allowed himself to care for. 

////////////

they look at him like he's everything flawed except human.

they lock him in a cage. 

their shackles never drag them back to him.

he gets lonely, sometimes. 

he's scared of the growing knowledge that their tethers are weakening, and nobody will bother to sit at his grave. 

////////////

"your parents, they didn't want you."

it would sting more if dream wasn't already aware of such a tragic fact. instead, he just sighs. 

"i wonder why."

"you're not supposed to exist, simple as that. maybe if you work hard enough, the universe will adopt you as a charity case."

"i thought you said that searching for a place in the universe is a pointless endeavor." dream is bitter, tired in a bone aching way, and too numb to feel the dread that should rightfully follow such reckless displays of disrespect. 

instead, the silence stretches on longer. 

"i give you a place in the universe, dreamy. i carved you a spot, because you were too weak to do it for yourself. that does not mean you're worthy of sitting in that spot, it just means i cheated you in."

that, dream thinks, was very close to being helpful. 

//////////

"he sounds like an abusive prick, dream."

"george-"

"no, he sounds like an abusive prick that found it convenient to manipulate little kids into depending on him, even after he's gone."

george was older, knew more things than the 13 year old blond. 

"but he's the reason i'm alive, isn't he?"

"i hate to break it to you, but keeping a child alive is probably the bear minimum."

"...that's not what he-"

"shut up, dream."

"but he-"

"shut up."

////////////

it's easy to tell yourself that you _aren't_ manipulating your victims into longing for the person who single-handedly tore apart their lives, just because you're desperate to matter in a world you were never meant to be a part of. 

it's easy to tell yourself you _meant_ to rely on the words that were written off as disgusting by the people you trusted most. 

it's easy to tell yourself that you _intended_ to become the man that your friends used to curse so eagerly, for your sake and yours alone. 

because the alternative is self respect.

and dream never cared enough about himself to change. 

////////////

_i think,_ dream repeats to himself, as he sits pensively in a room of obsidian, _that green has never been my favorite color._

_and some names should remain irrelevant._

////////////


End file.
